


Shelter

by peppermintquartz



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Prison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24789127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: Mustafa was a cop, framed and jailed.Joe offers protection.
Relationships: Mustafa Ali/Samoa Joe
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Short fic from my tumblr, put into one place.

“You’re Mustafa Ali.” 

Mustafa feels the chill on his back drop to below freezing. He’s supposed to be alone in this cell. Turning around slowly, he does his best not to shrink away. 

“Yeah,” he says to the big man. The latter strides in, as if he’s owns the room, and instantly the cell feels five times smaller. The door closes, the lock resoundingly loud, and the warden strides away. The air is thick, smothering. Mustafa’s pulse races.

“You helped my boys Jimmy and Jey,” says the big man, his eyes scanning Mustafa. “So I’m gonna help you.”

“You’re… you’re Joe?”

“That’s right.” Joe takes the bottom bunk and bundles up Mustafa’s stuff, handing them to the younger man. “In here, they call me Samoa Joe.”

Mustafa is still wary. Since being framed, he’s learned not to trust as much as he used to. “Hi, Joe.”

Joe observes him. “You know you’re gonna die without people watching your back.”

Mustafa smiles without humor. “Oh, I know.”

Bad enough that he’s a cop ( _was,_ his mind supplies bitterly); he is also a Muslim man in a prison with a strong neo-Nazi presence. Already he’s seen the way their leader, some Sullivan guy, watches him. He’s aware that his days are numbered.

“You came to aid the twins nonetheless,” says Joe, and leans forward, “so I am extending my protection to you, depending on the answers you give.”

“What happens if you don’t like them?”

Joe smiles crookedly, like he’s seeing an adorable puppy doing tricks. “You take your own chances then, kid.” Without waiting for Mustafa to respond, he asks, “Were you dirty?”

“No.” Mustafa can’t help the little flare of righteous, _helpless_ rage, of bone-deep worry over if Cedric is safe out there.

“Do you know who did this to you?”

“Yes.”

“You have any dirt on them?”

Mustafa’s hackles rise. “Why do you need to know that?”

Joe’s smile relaxes into something genuine. “Good to see you have some sense of self-preservation.” After another assessing scrutiny of the ex-cop, he says, “The only way you are gonna survive this place is if someone claims you.”

The younger man freezes. 

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” says Joe, in a low voice. “But they have to think that I did. That I’m making you my bitch.”

“I don’t want- I don’t want that,” Mustafa says, his voice strangled, sounding odd to his own ears.

Joe holds up his hands, like in surrender. “Not raping you.” Then he holds them out to Mustafa. “But I’d like you to trust that I know how to keep you safe.”

The former cop licks his lips, and then puts one hand in Joe’s. The big man tugs so that Mustafa is sitting down beside him. 

“This is what we’re going to do,” says Joe quietly. “I’ll bruise your wrists and your neck. Tomorrow onwards, you stay close to me. Lars and his idiots won’t come near.”

Mustafa swallows nervously. “My neck?”

Joe raises an eyebrow. “Do you trust me?”

“I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”

“Good. Be careful.” The older man looks tired, all of a sudden, and adds, “At least let me bruise your wrists.”

To that, Mustafa agrees, hoping that he’s not making the wrong choice. As Joe applies pressure, Mustafa feels shudders up and down his spine, and when he meets Joe’s intense gaze, another shiver shoots through him that has nothing to do with fear.

The bruises do their job.

After a week, Mustafa lets Joe bruise his neck.

*

*

Finn kneads the bridge of his nose. “He’s a goddamn _cop_ , Joe.”

“An innocent one.” Joe leans back and stares at his lawyer (and, secretly, his deputy). “A good one.”

“All the more he should be kept locked up,” Finn argues. “You know we aren’t upstanding citizens, Joe.”

Joe tilts his head and raises an eyebrow. “Kid deserves better than being killed by that fucker Sullivan. And shit’s gonna go down soon, Finn. Tension is building and that kid is gonna be caught in the middle.” A pause, and he says, quietly, “Better he get out where it’s safe.”

“You’ve gone soft in the fucking _head_ , you have.” Finn stands and pulls on his coat.

The guard comes over to snap on the cuffs again. Joe stands. “Give my regards to Seth.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Finn narrows his blue eyes. “Don’t you dare die, you fuck. I don’t want the seat.”

“Everyone says you’re the one framed me, you know.”

“Those wankers can go fuck themselves.” Finn exhaled heavily. “He got a name?”

“Says it’s some Indian dude named Jinder Mahal who set him up.”

Finn shakes his head. “I’ll poke around. No promises.”

*

*

“How can you say no to Daddy’s request?” Seth demands, smacking Finn on the thigh. It might have pissed Finn off if it had been anyone else, but it’s Seth, and the latter is currently almost naked between Finn’s legs, so that’s okay. Seth’s back is to Finn’s chest, Mustafa Ali’s folder open in Seth’s lap, and they’re reading up on his case. “Look at him! He should be vindicated.”

“You’re just soft for pretty faces.”

“What am I doing with you then?” Seth retorts smartly and is rewarded with a nip to his ear. Finn insinuates a hand between Seth’s legs, under the folder, and hooks his chin on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Anyway, it looks like he was set up.”

Finn hums. “Why don’t you-” He closes the folder and drops it on the floor, “-pay a visit to the DA’s office tomorrow, persuade her to look at the case again.”

Seth’s head lolls back and he’s smiling. “Was that an order?”

“Would you like it to be?”

“I don’t know if I want to obey orders,” the brunet muses aloud, as if his hips aren’t already shifting around, pushing at Finn’s left hand. “I think I want to be _persuaded thoroughly.”_

“Brat.” Finn kisses Seth’s ear and his other hand joins in the fun. “DA office tomorrow.”

*

*

Mustafa is led back to the cell he shares with Joe. His hands are shaking and his mind is a blank.

Joe doesn’t even wait for the door to be closed when he motions for Mustafa to come to him. Two months ago, the younger man wouldn’t have done it, but now he goes willingly, letting Joe capture him around the waist and pulling him to sit in Joe’s lap.

“What did the old man say?” Joe asks. 

“My case has been reviewed. They caught Jinder’s goons and they’ve turned on him.” Mustafa gulps, his heart racing. “They’re gonna let me go once the paperwork’s gone through in a couple days.”

“Good.” Joe pats Mustafa’s thigh. “You’re too soft to be in here with us bastards.” The big man sounds _pleased_ , as if he is truly delighted that Mustafa is going to be released, that he’s not going to have the ex-cop curled up against him, that he won’t need to leave bruises all over Mustafa’s limbs and neck-

“I don’t wanna go.”

Joe shifts Mustafa so he can look the latter in the eye. “The fuck you talkin’ about?”

“I don’t wanna go,” Mustafa repeats. “Sullivan’s goons are preparing to take you and the guys head-on. You need backup. I can’t leave knowing-”

“I can handle Sullivan.” With a sigh, Joe pushes Mustafa off his lap and stands up, taking two steps away, his back to the younger man. “You being here is a distraction.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“You don’t know enough shit about me to know what I mean.”

“I know you like me.” More daringly, Mustafa adds, “I know you’ll miss me.”

To that, Joe says nothing. The younger man waits. It’s another few minutes, before the older man returns to the lower bunk, crowding Mustafa onto his back. They don’t talk for the rest of the night.

*

*

When Mustafa returns to the prison, it’s as a visitor, but he’s told that Joe isn’t available only at the counter when he’s about to sign in.

“Why not?”

“He’s in isolation.” They won’t say more, and Mustafa has to leave, make the long lonely drive back into the city.

His letters to Joe aren’t answered either. Fed up, Mustafa writes to another inmate he got friendly with when inside - Murphy, who worked the kitchen with Mustafa - and finds out why Joe is in isolation.

The next step is going to Joe’s lawyer. Balor is hard to pin down for an appointment, but Mustafa has Cedric call the firm, and that’s why Mustafa is sitting opposite Finn Balor in his office.

“Joe killed Sullivan. What’s gonna happen to him?”

“I can’t speak with you about my clients, Mr Ali.” The lawyer is all smiles, but his sharp blue eyes are as friendly as a shark’s.

Mustafa chews the inside of his cheek. Then he leans in. “Mr Balor. Finn. May I call you Finn?” Without waiting for a reply, Mustafa says, “I want to be very clear about one thing: I know you’re not _just_ Joe’s lawyer. You know I was not _just_ his cellmate. I want to know, what’s gonna happen to him, and if there’s anything I can do to help.”

The lawyer raises an eyebrow. He leans forward too. “Nothing you do will help.” His expression softens. “Go home. Write your letters; he’s reading them, that I can assure you. I’m doing what I can. Joe is going to be fine.”

That’s all Mustafa needs. He dips his head, and then says, “I want to see him. Tell him to reply to my letters when he’s ready to see me. A week, a month, a year, a decade. However long it takes.”

*

*

When Murphy is released, it’s almost eight months to the day Mustafa walked out of the prison himself. Mustafa is there to pick him up.

“I thought you were joking,” Murphy says.

“I don’t joke about having steaks,” Mustafa replies, shaking Murphy’s hand. He’s pulled in for a hug. “And I’ve got the guest bed set up for you until you can get a flight home.”

“Sounds awesome.”

Dinner is delicious, and if Murphy takes a long bath after they get to Mustafa’s apartment, Mustafa says nothing about it. He himself remembers how he’d sunk into Cedric’s tub and felt relaxed for the first time since he was arrested. He’s writing another letter to Joe - he writes one daily - when his guest rematerializes.

“You’re a loyal one,” Murphy remarks, seeing Joe’s name on the envelope.

Mustafa folds the completed letter and slides it into the envelope. “He’s worth the loyalty.” To Murphy, he asks, “Do you want a beer? I’ve got a few bottles chilling in the fridge.”

“Sounds good.”

The beer is decent, and Mustafa uses the chance to ask about the other guys he was friendly with. The twins have stepped up while their boss is in iso, while a new trio has become real cocky; rumor is, they’re backed by a powerful Mexican gang outside. Mustafa tells Murphy about going to Joe’s lawyer, seven months ago, and not having a single update since.

Murphy reclines further on the sofa. He looks like a sprawling wolf, if wolves were ginger. “You really love him.”

“I didn’t expect to.” Mustafa feels himself blushing. “I mean, it was just about the protection at first.”

Murphy doesn’t say anything for a while as he drinks. Then he says, “I would’ve protected you too, you know.”

Mustafa is surprised. “Really? Why?” He did a favor to Joe, defending the twins; he’s never given Murphy anything.

“Cause you’re cute.” Off Mustafa’s unimpressed look, Murphy chuckles and says, “I don’t know. I liked you. In that stinking shitpile, you didn’t become like them. I mean, any cop who got in there woulda been careful not to draw attention to themselves, but you stuck your neck out to protect Jey and Jimmy, you spoke up for Gallagher, and you worked hard in the kitchen like it was your actual job instead of it being beneath you. I respected that.”

Mustafa grins. “I’d never have guessed that’s how much you liked me. Thought you were always in it for the jokes and the stupid one-upmanship with the potato peeling.”

“I would’ve offered you the same deal as Joe.” Murphy is not smiling now. He sets down his beer and takes Mustafa’s hand. “I still would.”

For some reason, Mustafa can’t look away. His pulse races as he stares at their joined hands. “You… You never said.”

“You were Joe’s, in there.” Murphy’s thumb rubs small circles in the center of Mustafa’s palm. “He was the better option then.”

Mustafa isn’t stupid. He knows what Murphy is trying to do. “I’m still Joe’s,” he says at last, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth.

“I know you’re gonna wait for him,” Murphy murmurs, shifting closer, “but you don’t have to be lonely while you wait.”

The first kiss is soft, much softer than what Mustafa expected from Murphy’s rough demeanor. A second, a third, a fourth, each a little more passionate than before, and then Mustafa has to pull away, gasping a little, his mind swimming with confusion.

Murphy exhales and leans his forehead against Mustafa. “Think about it, sunshine.”

“Sunshine?” Grabbing onto this new bit of information as a lifeline, Mustafa tries to steer their interaction into safer waters.

“That’s what we called you among ourselves.” Murphy grins again, showing his crooked teeth. “You brightened up that place whenever you smiled.”

Mustafa doesn’t know how to respond to that. Murphy leans in again, singing in a low, raspy whisper, “You are my sunshine” - a tender kiss - “my only sunshine” - another; he peppers kisses on Mustafa’s lips between each line, and Mustafa can feel his resistance melting away.

Murphy pulls back to look him in the eyes as he sings, “You never know dear, how much I love you.” Pressing their foreheads together, Murphy rumbles, “Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

A surge of emotion wells up inside Mustafa. He tries to smile, to joke, but he can’t find the words, and his smile wobbles. Murphy kisses him again and again, pulling him closer, until Mustafa asks, “Are you seducing me, Mr Murphy?”

“Yes.” The man nuzzles the tender spot under his ear, his breath hot and hungry, but his hands are gentle. “Let me seduce you. You don’t have to be lonely and strong all the time, sunshine. Let me take care of you tonight.” Another slow kiss. “Even one night.”

Mustafa closes his eyes. It’s a good few breaths before he whispers, “Yes.”

*

*

In the end, Joe is convicted of manslaughter, serving an additional two years on top of the one year he has left on his original sentence. He’s unexpectedly relieved that it’s not longer. 

Finn is smug. “Now you better reply to your Mustafa,” he tells Joe outside the court, before Joe is returned to jail. “He’s left a message every week asking how it’s going. I’m sick of it.”

“That’s because you won’t answer him.”

“I should’ve just seduced him and got him to forget you.”

“Seth would’ve cut your dick off before gutting you,” Joe remarks. He sighs. “Yeah, tell him it’s okay to visit.”

Finn snorts. “You tell him yourself. Write him a goddamn letter, you _prick_.”

When Joe’s let back into the general population, he’s given a wide berth by the rest, and his boys welcome him back with fist bumps.

“Good to see you, daddy-o,” says Jimmy. He and his twin have got their hair trimmed much shorter - less easy to grab hold of - and they catch Joe up on current affairs. “Murphy’s gone. Gallagher’s allied himself with us.”

“He’s in stores, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, very useful ally, that.”

Joe listens and takes it all in, redraws the political map in his head; it’s second nature by now. He’s been in jail the past four years, after all, a price to pay for building his own empire outside of the law. But he finds himself less and less interested in these little games. He just wants _out_ , now, permanently. The world outside has passed him by, and he thinks he’s getting too old for this shit.

It’s not hard to figure out his motivation when the weekend rolls around and he gets his visitor.

Mustafa is visibly moved when he sees Joe, the little _fool;_ the young man even sits forward in his chair to place his hand on the thick plexiglass separating them.

“Hey,” Joe says, through the phone.

“Hey,” says Mustafa. His voice is shaky.

Joe can’t help the warmth blooming in his chest, though he keeps his face expressionless. “Finn told you.”

“Three years isn’t that long. And if you behave yourself, it might even be shorter.”

“You don’t have to wait.” Joe cocks his head, makes an educated guess. “I know Murphy likes you.”

A strange flush suffuses Mustafa’s face. “He, uh, he told me.”

It stings, a little, that Murphy did go to Mustafa, but there are worse people who can watch over the young man. “Like I said, you don’t have to wait. I’m happy to see you now and then, as a friend.”

Mustafa takes a deep breath and exhales. “I’m not. Murphy is - was - It was just a night. I’m not gonna- I… I wanna wait for you, and I will.”

“You’re an idiot.” Joe doesn’t smile. “I can’t promise you shit, okay? I might be killed tonight, perhaps. Or maimed. I have nothing good to give you even if I were a free man. You’re young, you’ve so much potential. Go do something with your life and stop being idiotic.”

“So what?” Mustafa is obstinate. “I’m _your_ idiot now, and I’m gonna wait, whether you like it or not.”

Joe closes his eyes, before he puts the phone receiver back in its cradle. Mustafa slaps his palm against the plexiglass, dismayed. Joe stands, his jaw tight, and walks away, ignoring the muffled yelling behind him as Mustafa pounds on the divider.

 _It’s kinder this way,_ Joe tells himself. Let Murphy or someone else, someone _better,_ take care of him. 

*

*

Joe walks out, a free man, two years and seventeen days after he was sentenced for manslaughter. In another month, the twins will be out too. At the gate is Seth, looking very handsome in a black suit.

“Nice car,” Joe says. “Anniversary present?”

“I gave him nine orgasms in a row last week and he decided to reward me. Positive reinforcement and all that,” Seth says with a teasing wink. They drive into the city, heading for the nicer part of town. “Finn says he’ll come home in a few days. I’ve stocked the fridge. Fresh ingredients and ready-made meals, whichever you want, but if you want takeout, give me a call and I’ll bring food home.”

“Where is he?”

Seth hums. “Can’t tell you, daddy-o. You’ve relinquished the reins and all that jazz.”

They get to the penthouse which Seth and Finn call home, and Joe finds his eyes drawn to the view. God, how long has it been since he’s seen the open sky, the city unfolding beneath his feet? And - even more than the cityscape, he wants to see the horizon. 

“The view’s not going anywhere. You wanna put your things down?”

 _Brat_ , Joe thinks, and hugs Seth, dropping his duffel on the carpet. Then he asks, “What about Mustafa? He still with Murphy?”

“Murphy returned to Australia last weekend.” Seth’s eyes are very gentle. “It was an amicable breakup, Mustafa said.”

Joe doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He had pushed the ex-cop away, telling him to accept Murphy, and it had _hurt_ then in a way that Joe hadn’t expected. Mustafa sent letters and photos frequently, and after a month of letters, Joe gave in and answered them. He had Mustafa taken off the visitor list though. He knew that if he saw the young man again, he’d regret what he did. 

(Of course, he didn’t expect Finn to set Seth a task to befriend Mustafa… but Joe’s not above using Seth as a source of information.)

Mustafa is single again. He stopped writing to Joe about a month before this, and now he’s single again. Joe doesn’t want to read into it, but the heart wants what it wants, and his heart wants Mustafa.

(He’s a massive _fool_. He knows this.)

“He’s still running that half-way house?” Joe asks.

Seth shrugs. “Jury awarded him fifteen million for wrongful conviction, he wanted to put it to good use.” The young man grins. “Finn donates regularly to the cause too.”

“Don’t tell me you guys are using the shelter as a front.”

“I’m not telling you anything, man.” Off Joe’s glare, Seth throws up his hands. “I swear, we’re not gonna risk him. He’s a good guy and we like him.” Then, almost offhandedly, he adds, “And he misses you. Go find him.”

Joe exhales. “Yeah, well, I’m not going anywhere stinking of jail. And I’d like a decent Korean barbecue, if you can get me that.”

*

*

Cedric wipes his brow. “That looks good here.” He slaps the top of the refurbished desk. “And it doesn’t wobble!”

“Yay. Thanks, bro.” Mustafa stretches and winces at the pop in his lower back. The perils of running a shelter - secondhand office furniture are always just a little damaged.

They’re moving files back onto the desk when they hear the door open. Mustafa goes out to the front where the reception is and then freezes. His heart feels both too full and too tight.

“Hey.” Joe nods at him. “I hear you run a shelter. I, uh, don’t have a place to stay right now.”

“I might be able to take you in,” Mustafa replies, unable to hide his broad grin. “I only have one bed though.”

Joe shrugs and walks right up to the younger man, but he keeps his hands in his pockets. “I don’t mind a bit of a squeeze.”

Mustafa laughs quietly, not surprised to feel tears brimming in his eyes. He reaches for Joe’s face and guides the big man in for a kiss. It feels like they have never parted; it feels like a hundred years since they’ve touched. Mustafa is never going to part from him again.

“You know,” Cedric says behind him, in the driest tone Mustafa has ever heard, “that’s not how we usually greet newcomers.”


End file.
